turned. We convince ourselves that they’re not really deserving. That they’re not better than us. Sometimes we’re right, sometimes we’re wrong. It doesn’t really matter because we still respect the power and we will still bend to it regardless of how we may feel about the hands that hold it.”
I haven’t thought of it like that before. “This isn’t a direction I’ve chosen for myself,” I say softly. “He’s chosen it for me.”
“And you’re afraid you’ll get lost?” Simone asks. She shakes her head, stirs her drink. “You can’t retrace your steps, Kasie. What’s happened, happened. As long as you’re at your firm, people will remember. You can either see this thing through and find out if it takes you to a place you like or you can leave the firm and go somewhere else. Start from scratch.”
“Are you kidding?” I exclaim. “I’ve put six years into that place! And where would I go? There is no other consulting firm in LA that has their reputation.”
“You could work for yourself.”
I blink. It’s not that the thought has never occurred to me but I’ve never taken it seriously. The risks involved in being self-employed are too great. The only structure is the one you create. “I’m not cut out for that kind of uncertainty.”
“Well then you have a problem.” Simone gathers her blonde hair into her hands, pulling it up to the nape of her neck. “Everything about your life is pretty uncertain right now. That’s not going to change regardless of what you do.”
I hang my head, defeated. “I’m lost.”
“No, you know where you are, you’re just not sure which routes you want to take,” Simone notes. “You have to make your own decisions, and you will. But I will tell you this, you’re not done with Robert Dade. Not by a long shot.”
When she says his name, I feel him. Feel his smile, his hands; I feel his lips against my neck. He’s never far away. Never out of my mind, always causing ripples. No, I’m not done with Robert Dade. I’m not sure I ever will be.
CHAPTER 7
T HE NEXT MORNING comes too soon. The drum of regret pounds gently at my temples, reminding me of last night’s decadence. The moment I arrive at work Barbara tells me in a voice laced with marvel and glee that I’m being moved to Tom’s office.
I nod, unable to show enthusiasm. “Did Mr. Dade call?” I ask. He hadn’t called the night before. There were no texts on my phone this morning.
Barbara shakes her head, her loose curls holding absurdly still due to an excess of hair spray. “You two didn’t have a spat, did you?” She leans forward conspiratorially, “I liked Dave but Mr. Dade is so much hotter.”
I bristle at the remark. It’s not fair to Dave that he be compared to Robert. They are no longer competing for the same prize. I nod curtly at Barbara and walk into the office I’m about to abandon.
I’ll be moving one floor up, a physical symbol of my current trajectory. I don’t make a fuss. No one comes to my office to congratulate me or help me in the move. It doesn’t take long. Six years and the only things in my office are papers and files. No pictures of kids, no cute little paperweights, no paintings that weren’t placed there by the company. There’s nothing in here that says, This is Kasie’s office, except for those files, which, of course, are more than enough. Many a night I have found comfort in the numbers and calculations that are stored so neatly in files and storage disks. Their cold logic is something I can count on. If I could manage to turn my entire life into a math equation, I’m sure I could figure it out.
Still, I’ve become accustomed to my office, the way the drawers of the file cabinets creak their greetings when I pull them open. I’m fond of my desk with its hardwood dyed black, the subtle curve of its legs that hint at a certain femininity to this utilitarian piece of furniture.
But of course my new office is better. The view shows a
I haven’t thought of it like that before. “This isn’t a direction I’ve chosen for myself,” I say softly. “He’s chosen it for me.”
“And you’re afraid you’ll get lost?” Simone asks. She shakes her head, stirs her drink. “You can’t retrace your steps, Kasie. What’s happened, happened. As long as you’re at your firm, people will remember. You can either see this thing through and find out if it takes you to a place you like or you can leave the firm and go somewhere else. Start from scratch.”
“Are you kidding?” I exclaim. “I’ve put six years into that place! And where would I go? There is no other consulting firm in LA that has their reputation.”
“You could work for yourself.”
I blink. It’s not that the thought has never occurred to me but I’ve never taken it seriously. The risks involved in being self-employed are too great. The only structure is the one you create. “I’m not cut out for that kind of uncertainty.”
“Well then you have a problem.” Simone gathers her blonde hair into her hands, pulling it up to the nape of her neck. “Everything about your life is pretty uncertain right now. That’s not going to change regardless of what you do.”
I hang my head, defeated. “I’m lost.”
“No, you know where you are, you’re just not sure which routes you want to take,” Simone notes. “You have to make your own decisions, and you will. But I will tell you this, you’re not done with Robert Dade. Not by a long shot.”
When she says his name, I feel him. Feel his smile, his hands; I feel his lips against my neck. He’s never far away. Never out of my mind, always causing ripples. No, I’m not done with Robert Dade. I’m not sure I ever will be.
CHAPTER 7
T HE NEXT MORNING comes too soon. The drum of regret pounds gently at my temples, reminding me of last night’s decadence. The moment I arrive at work Barbara tells me in a voice laced with marvel and glee that I’m being moved to Tom’s office.
I nod, unable to show enthusiasm. “Did Mr. Dade call?” I ask. He hadn’t called the night before. There were no texts on my phone this morning.
Barbara shakes her head, her loose curls holding absurdly still due to an excess of hair spray. “You two didn’t have a spat, did you?” She leans forward conspiratorially, “I liked Dave but Mr. Dade is so much hotter.”
I bristle at the remark. It’s not fair to Dave that he be compared to Robert. They are no longer competing for the same prize. I nod curtly at Barbara and walk into the office I’m about to abandon.
I’ll be moving one floor up, a physical symbol of my current trajectory. I don’t make a fuss. No one comes to my office to congratulate me or help me in the move. It doesn’t take long. Six years and the only things in my office are papers and files. No pictures of kids, no cute little paperweights, no paintings that weren’t placed there by the company. There’s nothing in here that says, This is Kasie’s office, except for those files, which, of course, are more than enough. Many a night I have found comfort in the numbers and calculations that are stored so neatly in files and storage disks. Their cold logic is something I can count on. If I could manage to turn my entire life into a math equation, I’m sure I could figure it out.
Still, I’ve become accustomed to my office, the way the drawers of the file cabinets creak their greetings when I pull them open. I’m fond of my desk with its hardwood dyed black, the subtle curve of its legs that hint at a certain femininity to this utilitarian piece of furniture.
But of course my new office is better. The view shows a
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